


(Nourishment 6) Cotton Candy

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-13
Updated: 2002-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 11:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark and Lex have a real date</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Nourishment 6) Cotton Candy

## (Nourishment 6) Cotton Candy

by Janet F. Caires-Lesgold

<http://jfc.freeshell.org/stories.html>

* * *

Title: COTTON CANDY (Nourishment 6)  
Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold  
Feedback to: jfc013@merle.it.northwestern.edu Archive: Mailing list archives only--others please ask permission! Category: Story, romance, Lex's POV - sequel to "Moon Pie" Caution: Schmoop alert! Spoilers: Anything through "Leech" is fair game Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual interaction Pairing: Clark/Lex  
Summary: Clark and Lex have a real date 

DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me. Smallville is the property of Alfred Gough, Miles Millar, Tollin-Robbins Productions, and Warner Bros. Television, and based upon characters originally created by Jerome Siegel and Joe Shuster. This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The rest of "The Nourishment Series" can be found elsewhere on this archive - You don't have to read them all first, but it might help. 

DEDICATION: For Tiff and those guys in that band who do _that_ song... 
    
    
    COPYRIGHT:  (C) Janet F. Caires-Lesgold         February 25, 2002
                    jfc013@merle.it.northwestern.edu
    

Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much. 

* * *

Clark Kent's tongue tastes like cotton candy. 

It doesn't hurt that he's holding a half-eaten paper stick full of the stuff, which I hope to God he doesn't get stuck to my jacket as he kisses me. 

We are hiding in the shadows alongside the midway of the Smallville High School spring carnival to steal a moment to ourselves, during an honest-to-goodness date. Of course, his friends, who have gone off to find snacks of their own, don't know that. All they have seen is me showing up as they arrived in the parking lot, and Clark suggesting that I join them. He is getting better at lying, to them at least, like when the blonde (Chloe, is it?) accused him, correctly, as it so happens, of setting it all up in advance. His talent at lying to me still needs work. 

I don't let his earlier fabrications bother me tonight, though. Perhaps I'm letting my hormones get the better of me, even while one would think I were beyond that. But Clark is so beautiful, so giving, so otherwise _honest_ that I cannot help but trust him. In a world where I am betrayed by the little tramps I take to bed, and even my own father, his trustworthiness is a precious commodity. So he has been cagey to me about events early in our acquaintance. Tonight I just don't fucking care. 

Back to that tongue--the one that's coated in spun sugar and pressing hard against mine at the moment. Maybe it's just the carnival atmosphere: bright colored lights, screams from the tacky rides, ear-splitting canned music--something is making him even _more_ enthusiastic than usual. It's quite affecting, to be honest. I might have to find a more secluded spot to give him a little more satisfaction later. 

At last he breaks away and starts nuzzling my ear. "Hadn't we ought to be getting back?" I murmur into his neck. "They've probably missed us by now." 

"Oh, okay," he grumbles appealingly. His eyes reflect the glow of the midway behind us, and he looks just so incredibly _happy_ that I give him one more quick kiss and a smile before pushing him back out to the noise and the crowd. 

Pete is eating yet _another_ hot dog when we find them, while Chloe wears a very suspicious-looking white powder on her nose. "Miss Sullivan," I approach her, "have you been enjoying a treat that's illegal even in Metropolis?" 

"Huh?" she asks, a sentiment echoed by her two friends who look at me like I've grown horns. 

"Lex," Clark groans, "she's eating an elephant ear." Before I can ask what that has to do with anything, he reaches out and whisks the dusty smudge away with a finger, then shows me the pastry she's holding wrapped in waxed paper--which of course is covered with powdered sugar. 

"Oh. Sorry," I mumble, and everyone shakes their heads in wonder at the weird city kid who's never heard of an elephant ear before. 

Clark diplomatically breaks the moment by teasing his buddy. "Say, Pete, what's with all of the hot dogs? Going for the county record?" 

Polishing off his snack, he licks his fingers and replies, "I missed lunch _and_ dinner today. Besides, I like hot dogs..." 

He turns towards the hand-squeezed lemonade booth, whereupon Chloe whispers to us with a worried look, "Whatever you do, _don't_ make me go on the Tilt-A-Whirl with him, willya?" 

"Promise," swears Clark, smiling sweetly at her before she follows Pete away from our spot. 

"If you ask me," I whisper conspiratorially to Clark as we go after them, "that boy's got an oral fixation." That earns me an adorable blush from my date, which makes me think even naughtier thoughts when he turns away. 

Lemonades in hand, we begin to wander past the games. "Hey, Clark," invites Pete, indicating a booth outfitted with full-size hoops and nets, "wanna try a couple baskets?" 

"Naaah, I can't," Clark demurs, making us all examine him curiously. "I must have wrenched something during our pickup game the other day..." he complains, working his shoulder in its socket and wincing a little. "You go ahead, though." 

Pete merely shrugs and gives the carny a dollar for three balls to try his hand. A few minutes and a couple of dollars later, he is the proud winner of a rather hideous stuffed toy crow with a ridiculous red cape. Clark congratulates him, asking, "So, are you going to give that to your little brother?" 

"Heck, no!" spouts Pete. "I won it. It's mine. Let him win his own crow!" We get the chance to look at _him_ like he's an alien before moving on to the next game. 

A few booths down the path we come to a row of apparatuses facing us bearing bowling balls balanced on a narrow track of metal rails. "Ah," I say, "a finesse game. I'll give it a shot." 

The machines take quarters, but I'm only carrying three. "Gee whiz, Lex," gripes Clark, "haven't you ever been to a carnival before? You _never_ show up without a pocketful of quarters." He fishes around in the pocket of his jeans and extracts about six provocatively warm coins, which he tucks neatly into my hand. 

"Actually, no," I answer. "Carnaval in Brazil, yes. No carnivals, though." 

"Guess there's a first time for everything, huh?" His grin is directed precisely at me, reminding me of his upcoming birthday party and the gift he hopes to receive, and deserves as well. 

After putting two quarters in the appropriate slots on the machine, I pull back the lever to release the bowling ball into my hands. I heft it slightly with my fingers to test its weight, then give it a shove at the target dip in the track. All eyes follow the ball as it rolls over an arch, through the dip, and right past the target, bumping against the "Danger" button on the back of the machine. "Awwww," everybody groans along with the "loser" buzzer as the ball returns to its starting position. 

"Too hard," I say, mostly to myself, as I feed the machine two more quarters. I give the released ball a more gentle push this time, only to have it roll right back down the near side of the arch and activate the loser switch again. 

"Oh, too bad, eh, Lex?" laughs Pete. 

I ignore his casual use of my first name and insert the last two warm quarters into the machine. "I think I've got it now," I brag lightly. "Just have to concentrate." 

Before I pull the lever, I feel an uninvited hand press hesitantly against my shoulder and realize that Clark is taking advantage of his friends' rapt attention on my game to touch me surreptitiously. Rather than distancing myself from his contact, I use it to focus my concentration, and roll the ball one last time. 

Nobody breathes as the ball rises over the arch and swoops carefully down the other side, easing almost to the "Danger" button, but finally coasting back down to the safety of the dip. A harsh metallic clanging, which must signal my success, assails our ears from somewhere in the booth. 

"And we have a winner!" shouts the pimple-faced carny, who hands me a plush figure of a howling coyote. 

I thank him, even though he's off to make change for another customer, and look at my prize for a moment while Clark and his friends congratulate me heartily. 

"Nice game, Lex," cheers Pete, clutching his little crow. 

"And you didn't think I could do it," I taunt him in reply, then turn to Chloe. "For you, my dear," I announce gallantly, offering her the stuffed toy. 

"Gee, thanks!" she gushes, hugging it delightedly, dropping her veneer of almost-woman to show the eager child beneath just for a moment. 

"You're welcome," I answer, enjoying her reaction. 

We stand in the path awkwardly for a minute, whereupon Clark catches my eye. "Is it okay if she...?" he trails off, gesturing slightly with his head. 

"Hmmm? Oh, of course!" I respond, picking up on his hint after a beat, and opening my arms to her. 

The girl holds back for a moment, looking to Clark almost for permission. He grins at her, insisting, "Go on! You know you want to!" 

At last, she jumps before me and gives me a grateful little hug. It is nothing like Clark's hugs, of course, but I think it gives all three of us a little thrill, if the look on his face is any indication. She steps away shyly and cuddles the toy for a moment longer before shaking off the cute schoolgirl enthusiasm and regaining her professional journalist's demeanor once again. Pete has begun to stalk off down the midway, dejectedly holding his crow by one wing, and we go to follow him. 

Chloe stays a little closer to us after that, badgering me with questions. "You've been to Brazil for Carnaval, you say? What was it like? How does it compare to this carnival?" 

"They had a few more women in skimpy costumes," I begin. 

"Which reminds me," snarks Pete, "where _is_ Lana tonight, anyway?" 

"I don't know," answers Clark, scanning the area a moment as if he's actually going to see her. "Wait--there she is!" 

Startled, I follow his pointing finger with my eyes to a small booth further down the path. 

"Kissing booth?" Chloe reads incredulously. 

"Guess it's for charity," Clark suggests. 

"What are we supposed to do? _Watch_ 'em?" asks Pete. Sure enough, as we come up to the booth, the head cheerleader and the quarterback are sitting very cozily inside, wrapped in a positively soap-opera style clinch. Quickly, I observe Clark for any sign of discouragement, but he seems just as amused as his pals at the display before us. 

The Sullivans raised no shy, retiring daughters, so Chloe marches up to the booth and knocks on the wall to get the attention of the couple inside. "Hey, are you guys open for business?" she barks, startling the lovebirds out of their smooch. 

"Or is the show just beginning?" adds Pete, making Clark blush a little, though it is lost in the combination of light and shadow on the midway. 

"Don't mind us!" explains Lana, smoothing her sweater and sitting up straighter. "Business has been kind of slow, so Whitney got bored. What can we do for you?" 

"How much?" Pete asks boldly, getting out his wallet. 

"A dollar," she answers brightly, trying to act like she'd rather be kissing any of us than her paramour. "It's a fundraiser for the Red Cross." 

"I'll take one," Pete replies, handing her a dollar bill. 

"Okay," she says, taking his money, then stands up to face him. They exchange a very polite, friendly kiss, leaving them both smiling broadly as they separate. 

"You're both doing this?" asks Chloe. "Then count me in!" She hands Whitney a dollar and leans into the booth as he delivers his required quick kiss. 

"How about you, Clark?" Lana teases sweetly. "It _is_ for a good cause..." 

"Um..." he fumbles, glancing my way to gauge my disapproval, but I don't give it. 

Instead I smile and give him a hearty nudge with my elbow. "Go on, Clark. You _know_ you want to!" 

A crumpled bill appears in his hand, and he shyly steps up to the booth. "Lana," he greets her. 

"Clark," she answers, her voice an invitation. 

They kiss without much fanfare, and I see Chloe and Pete exchange a raised eyebrow. Meanwhile, however, I am watching Whitney, who seems supremely unconcerned about the freshman who until very recently has had his eye on his girlfriend. 

I, however, am still not the biggest friend of the boy who put my heart's desire on a scarecrow tree in a cornfield and left him to die of exposure. Revenge, or just a little game at his expense, is mine. 

"Do I get a turn?" I ask as soon as Clark has stepped away from Lana's inviting lips. 

"Sure," she replies, standing and waiting for me. 

Much to everyone's surprise, I cram a dollar into _Whitney's_ hand and grab his shoulders, giving him an extremely thorough and theatrical kiss, pulling away with an audible pop. 

I turn on my toe and walk back out to the main midway, though not without taking note of the expression of shock on Lana's face, those of amusement and surprise from Chloe and Pete, and that of utter mortification from Whitney. Clark is immediately on my heels, but I keep a poker face for the moment for his benefit. When we are out of earshot of the booth, he gives me a sidelong glance and asks, "Well?" 

"Well, what?" 

"With tongue?" 

"You bet," I answer, chuckling with him and relieved that he's found the whole situation just as silly as I have. 

Eventually, the two of us find ourselves in front of an open booth surrounding a platform of color-coded muffin tins. "Now, _this_ I think I can do," announces Clark, who puts his money down on the counter and gets a small basket of plastic whiffle balls. He proceeds to toss them very gently onto the painted targets, aiming for circles of a particular color. 

I decide to stay out of the way and let my eye wander over the offered prizes. My attention falls on an array of wall mirrors bearing logos of beer companies and motorcycle manufacturers, but I almost don't recognize my own reflection there. Pausing a moment to take stock of my mood, I realize that the look of sheer contentment I see on my own countenance in the mirrors is completely authentic, and that I am actually happy. I can't help glancing over at Clark, who wears a variation of the very same expression, and I think for a second that my heart might just burst from my chest. 

Soon Clark is the new owner of a medium-sized stuffed frog, but his grin is somewhat muted. "Something wrong?" I ask him. 

"Yeah--what happened to Chloe and Pete?" 

Just then Pete comes tearing past us on the way back toward the parking lot. Bringing up the rear is a very disgruntled Chloe, carrying both my gift of the toy coyote and Pete's crow. 

"What happened?" we ask in unison. 

She shakes her head, her annoyance painted bold on her face. "Don't get on the Tilt-A-Whirl for awhile. They're hosing it down now." 

Clark looks back over the heads of the crowd to try to see Pete. "You mean he...?" 

"Yup, just like he does every year. Trust me: it's not pretty. Can you get home okay, Clark?" she asks, walking backwards toward the parking lot. 

He glances at me, and I nod to show my consent to give him a ride home. "I think I'll be fine, thanks. See you at school on Monday! And don't forget my birthday party next week!" he yells after her. 

"Oh, I don't think you'll _let_ me forget! Thanks again for the coyote, Mr. Luthor!" 

"You're welcome, Chloe, and call me Lex, please!" I wave goodnight beside Clark, who still seems a little distant. "What is it?" I ask, looking for his gaze, which eludes me. 

"Nothing..." He is lying, but I can see that he's watching Chloe disappear with the toys. 

"Did _you_ want the coyote?" I tease him. 

"No. I just thought you might..." His voice trails off. 

Suddenly all becomes clear. Brushing nonexistent lint from his shoulders with a firm hand so I may touch him acceptably in public, I reassure him, "Clark, I don't need a little toy coyote. I've got my own real, live coyote right here, don't I?" 

Once again, I am right--I can tell from his renewed grin that while he'd hoped I'd keep the toy to remind me of his baying at the moon that night last month, he's touched that I remembered, and that I just called him "my own". I'm more sentimental than he suspected after all. 

"So, what now?" I ask. 

Still smiling a little, he suggests, "I think the Ferris wheel is safe..." 

"Sounds good," I concur, keeping pace at his side. 

Once we are shut in our little basket, I can tell something is still on his mind. I look hard into Clark's eyes to determine what is bothering him, and so soon after he looked so happy. "Are you mad that Pete behaved so childishly?" 

He smiles and shrugs. "No--it wouldn't be carnival if Pete didn't upchuck _somewhere_..." He is silent once again, but his eyes keep coming back to mine. 

"What's wrong?" I ask at last. 

"Nothing really..." 

"You usually don't have any trouble being alone with me. Is there something you want to tell me?" 

Looking out over the whole fairgrounds, he seems to make a decision. "Actually, yes. I know you trust me, right?" 

"Completely," I answer, not hiding anything from him, and hoping he feels he can be the same with me. 

"I've wanted to tell you this for awhile, and I never really felt I should, but I have to say it. You won't be weird, no matter what I say?" 

He looks genuinely afraid of my reaction, so I steel myself for whatever he wants to say. "Go ahead, Clark. You can tell me anything." 

With our basket stopped at the top of the wheel to let on more passengers, he takes a deep breath and looks at the toy frog without seeing it. At last he raises his eyes to me. "Okay, here goes. I love you, Lex." 

I don't know what I expected him to say, but this is both less and a whole lot more than I had any right to anticipate. "You love me?" 

"Yeah. I don't know if this means I'm gay or what, but I do. I love being with you. I love kissing you. I dream about that night under the full moon. I think about you when I... when I make myself come. I hope it's okay, that you're not freaked out or anything..." He looks as if he might cry. 

"Did you invite me here to tell me this?" 

"Yeah... Look, I understand. I'll just get home by myself if you don't want to drive me..." 

I grab his chin and make him look at me. "Clark, calm down. Why wouldn't I want to drive you? Did you think that I'd be upset by what you just told me?" 

"I don't know. I just knew I wanted to tell you when we were alone, and then suddenly we were alone, and I took a shot and..." 

Before he bursts into tears, I kiss him hard. I honestly have no idea how else to answer his admission. Do I love him? I may very well, but love usually leads to my getting hurt, or hurting someone, and Clark is the last person on earth I want to hurt, and probably the first in a long time whose rejection could really hurt me. I'm going to have to tread lightly here. 

He whimpers in his throat, so I break the kiss and reach for him. He practically crawls into my lap, making the basket rock precariously. We finally find a balance perching on opposite benches and holding each other in the middle. "Are you okay, Clark?" 

"Yeah... I'm sorry if I said too much. I can take it back if you want me to..." 

This makes me smile and shake my head in wonder. I sit back against my side of the basket, holding his hands tight. "Oh, Clark! Don't you _ever_ take back your true feelings! Now, I don't know what you want me to say--actually, I _do_ , but I don't know if I can say those words just yet. Can I think about it for a little while?" He doesn't say anything, but the hope in his eyes is very encouraging, so I go on. "I care about you more than anybody else in my life, but I need a little time. Would that be okay with you, or will you be disappointed if I can't say it back to you right now?" 

His eyes shine, partly from the carnival lights, and partly from still being wet with emotion. "It's okay, Lex. I can wait, as long as you need me to wait." He turns wistful for a moment. "But can we still make love on my birthday?" 

A huge grin suffuses my face at his question. "Of course! I promised you that, and we will. It means a lot to me that you love me, Clark. I have to show you how much _some_ way or another!" He echoes my grin, and another, more immediate way occurs to me as our ride progresses in silence. 

From the top of the wheel, I can see the front panels for both a Tunnel of Love and a Spookhouse. There's no way I could take Clark into the Tunnel of Love, not in rural Kansas. The Spookhouse, however, is another animal entirely, and I spot a couple of guys in bright red ballcaps heading inside, and take a quick glance at my watch. With one eye on the exit door of the ride down on the ground as we make our final approach, I grab Clark for one more deep kiss, and brush his crotch gently with my hand, finding the hardness that I expect there. 

We climb out of the Ferris wheel basket at last, and I take him to the ticket window of the Spookhouse. "Let's go in here, okay?" 

I think he knows what I have in mind, because he blushes and grins sexily at me. "Sure. I'm brave," he assures me, and I believe him. 

Seven minutes by my watch after they went in, I notice the red-capped fellows pile out the exit of the ride, laughing and out-of-breath. Maybe I'm not the only one who had this idea here tonight. 

We sit crammed side by side in a tiny cart alone, and a chain tugs us into the dark. Clark's arms slip around me, and I lean in to kiss him tentatively at first, then more firmly. Flashes of green lights on painted ghosts and marginally-scary figurines distract the attention of those in the carts around us, so I assume we are unobserved. My hands squeeze his hardening cock through his jeans, then open his fly and reach inside. I move my mouth onto his ear and lap at it briefly before cryptically asking, "Yes?" 

He nudges my head around with his nose, positioning his mouth immediately next to my ear. "Yes, Lex--yes," he mouths against my head, then pushes me down so that I bend over his lap. 

I lower his underwear as best I can in the cramped confines of our cart and let his erect cock out into the stale air of the Spookhouse. Never having done this to another guy before, I go on a combination of instinct and the knowledge of what I like. Hoping I'm not hurting him, I push back the foreskin that stretches taut over the edge of the head and run my tongue along the slit. Clark's hand clutches suddenly at my neck, but relaxes immediately, apparently to signal me that all is well. Holding firm to the root of him, I kiss and caress his organ with as much passion as I can generate quickly and in an uncomfortable position. 

His skin smells musky and dark and enticing at such close quarters, and I sniff deeply against his pubic hair. With a sigh, I open my mouth and take as much of his penis inside as I can. He strokes my head encouragingly, so I tease and bob along his shaft, humming in the back of my throat. Finally I suck in my cheeks, and can feel his balls tighten against his body near the heel of my hand. The hand on my head is removed, probably to keep from hurting me, and, just under the sounds of recorded shrieking, I can hear him cry out, "Oh, God!" At once my tongue is bathed with his essence, which has a distinct flavor both bitter and clean. I love you, too, Clark, I think as I swallow his come for the first time--I may never be able to tell you that, but it's true, and it makes me believe in miracles just a little. 

With a minute to spare in the dark tunnel, I have him generally tucked back together, and my tongue down his throat in communion again, and he seems happy as a clam to have me in that position, as am I. 

Yes, Clark's tongue right now tastes like cotton candy and lemonade, but his come tastes like hope and trust and life itself. 

**THE END**


End file.
